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Grey clouds and grey mist
peer in through the windows
Grey trees stare
Their longing is near tangible
Though for most of us
it's not there.
But for the solemn studiousness
The pensive perkiness
Their glare gives.
For we are lost
In brown, in red, in green
The froth of a cappucinno
The glow of passionate discourse
The serenity of thought.
Each of us encapsulated in the comfiness
of discussion. Within, without
Throughout.
The patient barista dispenses to each
Their measure of energy.
We sip, we savor, we ignore
Till we slip silently out the door
To join the trees and mist
To be replaced by another
Thinker, seeker, passionate no one
While the clouds, the trees
Stare on, satisfied.